


Winter Winds

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Fenris wonders, if there is a world where he was unfortunate enough to never meet Hawke.</p><p>He is glad he has never had to see it. </p><p>(Assorted Fenhawke Drabbles. )</p><p>(Summary per chapter. Gender of Hawke unspecified, thus duel gender tagging)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Words hurt. Fenris has regrets.

They entered his house at nightfall.

Fenris knew it was them when they enter, even though they said nothing upon arriving. Only Hawke would bother to knock on his door, only they would climb his steps quiet enough to avoid waking him. When they appeared in the doorway, Fenris was surprised to find them out of their armor entirely. No metal plate. No hidden knives.

No staff, where they directed their magic.

Fenris thought of his words earlier that day. Shouted in rage after they’d taken down a band of slavers, one a mage. What he’d hissed as Hawke watched. 

_“Magic can only destroy. It destroys everything.”_

Fenris wasn’t quite sure what he felt in his chest as Hawke stepped into his room, but it felt something like shame. 

“You ran off earlier,” Hawke said. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.” They looked around the room. “I’m not intruding, am I?”

 _Never_ , Fenris thought. Because while Hawke could be pushy, Hawke could be over the top, and zealous, they were never willing to pass a boundary if Fenris made clear it wasn’t welcome. 

“It is fine,” he said. Hawke walked in towards the usual chair they sat down in and paused, shooting him a look. Asking permission. Fenris nodded, and when Hawke sat down, it was with a sign. Fenris soon realized why: with the fight today, they’d taken a beating. The mage had to be bruised. 

“Are you alright?”

“Hm?”

“You took a hit today.” 

“Oh.” Hawke reached down, lightly toughing their ribs. “It’s fine. Nothing a day or two of recovery won’t cure.”

“And you believe me to understand you will actually spend this time recovering?”

Hawke smirked. “What Anders doesn’t know, won’t get me a lecture.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Fenris was tempted to get a bottle of brandy from the basement, just to distract from the tension in the room, but it felt cheep. He cleared his throat.

“What I said earlier-”

“What?”

“The comment. About magic.”

“Ah. That.” Hawke’s voice was flat. They had heard. And apparently taken it to heart.

“I did not….” Fenris trailed off. Did not mean to include Hawke in their lot? That seemed cheap at best, for an apology. “It was out of line.”

Hawke sighed. “Fenris, it was slavers. I know your history. You were clearly upset and-”

Fenris looked them right in the eye. Hawke had to understand this. “That does not give me an excuse to hurt you.”

Hawke looked at him for a long moment. They’re shoulder’s slumped. They’re gaze met the floor. 

“When I was a child…” They said, words picked with care. “I thought myself a monster. My magic manifested in the barn, you see. Fire magic. I accidentally lit a bale of hay. Father came in time to save the barn and avoid notice, but not before some cats were caught in the blaze.”

They looked down at their hands. 

“I was terrified of myself. Of what I could do. I thought the Chantry right about me, that my magic brought misfortune on my family. Took years to convince myself that I was not to blame for the terrors around me.”

The looked down at the crest on their belt. The Amell crest. “But after Father. And Bethany. And Carver. I-” They closed their eyes. “That truth is harder to remember, these days.”

Fenris felt guilt hit him again, though he knew it wasn’t Hawke’s intention. He would have to keep this in mind for the future. Hawke was careful to leave his emotional insecurities alone. Fenris owed them the same. 

“I apologize.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Perhaps not, but reminding you of it was.”

Fenris watched as Hawke ran their thumb over their family crest. It was a lovely token, shined metal, and the red ribbon that was tied around it added a needed splash of color. He thought of Hawke’s face on the beach, when they were surrounded by the dead slavers. The hurt that had made Fenris run. 

 _What kind of man was he_ , Fenris thought, _if he could so easily injure people he loved._

“You don’t hate me, do you Hawke?” Fenris said, feeling childish for asking.”For my mistakes?”

Hawke’s head shot up. Their face was deathly serious. 

“Fenris, I could never hate you. Never.” 

The guilt in Fenris’ chest was replaced by a warmth that lasted the rest of the evening.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A present.

“You must be jesting.”

Hawke looked down at the box in their hands, trying desperately to keep their face blank. When Fenris told them he had a gift for them, they’d been caught by surprise, thrown off to how the man could have acquired any sort of present while they were on the run from the Chantry itself.  It wasn’t like they had time for shopping. Or money for it either.

Looking at the feather lying in the box, Hawke realized how Fenris could have acquired such a gift on low funds. After all, it didn’t take much to find a hawk’s feather in woods like these. Except for perseverance for a very silly joke. 

“Do you not like it?” Fenris asked, voice oh so innocent. Hawke was onto him. After know each other for almost a decade, they could see through almost every bluff he tried to pull. Hawke reached into the box and pulled out the feather.

“I am just surprised. When you said you got a gift that reminded you of me, I thought you were being less literal.” They turned the feather in their fingers and tucked it behind their ear. “What do you think? Is it fetching?”

Fenris rolled his eyes, but a small smile pulled at his lips. “You’re always fetching.” He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Hawke’s lips. “It was worth hunting for.”

“To see my wondrous fashion sense?” Fenris shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was serious.

“To see you smile. You do not do it as much. After all that has happened. I wished to see it once more.” 

Hawke stared at him, a little awe struck. After a moment, their expression softened.  
  
“I love you.”

“I love you too.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke in the fade.

“You lied to me.”

He tangles the red cloth in his hands, twirling it around his fingers. It’s worn, frayed around the edges, and when he brings it up to his nose, there’s no lingering sent of the person who once gave it to him. He forces himself to pretend that the token still smells of them, taking himself back almost a decade. Himself, scared, alone, angry. Them, smiling, broken in ways he could not see, a light in the darkness that was his life at the time. Two people who took six years to learn how love worked. How to make it work.

If only they learned sooner, Fenris thought. Then he would have had more to look back upon. More years. Not enough years, there would never be enough, but more. 

“You promised you’d come back,” Fenris whispered, taking in a deep breath. The letter Varric sent him remained discarded on the floor. “You promised. Please Hawke. Come back to me.” 

There was no answer. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke comes back.

Fenris hears the rumors.

It’s hard not to. Kirkwall is a busy place, even after all that has happened there, and news of the Inquisition spreads fast in such confined spaces. Barely weeks after Hawke leaves, he’s already hearing news about what the Champion has been up to. Fighting dragons. Battling rogue Templars. Starting drinking contests.

Fenris knows better than to believe the rumors (well, besides the last one). The only word he takes as fact is Hawke’s own, sent by letter whenever they can spare the time. He keeps them on Hawke’s desk (he doubts they would mind him using it in their absence) and after a bad nightmare, he makes sure to pour over the notes he’s collected.

Hawke is safe. Hawke is alive.

The rumors get more dire, of course. It doesn’t worry him at first, physically entering the Fade is nonsense, until Hawke’s letters do not arrive on time. He waits for the raven for almost a week before the worry truly starts to form in his gut, raw and painful. The news says the Inquisitor lost someone to the Fade. Someone important. 

No matter who he asks, no one can tell him who that person was.

When two weeks pass, the worry in his gut has changed to panic. They cannot be dead. Varric would write him. He would have gotten word. He would have known the moment they perished. He takes it out on the slavers he finds, blood soaking the sands of the wounded coast. When he helps the newly freed to Merrill’s, she tells him the same thing each time.

“Hawke will be back. I’m sure of it.”

He doesn’t want to trust her words, but sure enough, a week later, there is a knock at the mansions door. Fenris doesn’t hear it, too busy curled up in Hawke’s bed that he has made his own in their absence. It is only once he feels a dip in the matress that he realize what has happened.

“You came back,” he whispers, somewhat convinced that this is a dream, that he has not truly gotten his happy ending. Hawke just smiles at him. Gives Fenris back the red token he gave them for good luck when they departed. Ties it around his other wrist.

“I did promise.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris takes a hit meant for Hawke

Fenris takes a blow for Hawke on Tuesday.

He doesn’t remember much of it, afterwards. He doesn’t remember much of anything through the fog of haze and pain. There was a sword, that he remembers, sharp,cruel and not his own. There was a pain in his chest, blood on his lips, copper in his throat. And there was a scream. Hawke’s scream, so pained that Fenris thought for sure that his lover was hurt as well.

It is clear in the aftermath that he is wrong. Hawke is fine. Physically at least. Fenris himself is fine, only a brand new scar to show for the incident. In Fenris’ book, it is a win.

Hawke does not agree.

“You idiot,” Hawke says while Fenris is on the mend, and that’s what tells Fenris Hawke is truly angry. Rarely is he treated to insults post injury. “You could have been killed!”

They’re not wrong. The wound Fenris received certainly could have been fatal. But they are missing the point.

“Yes, but if I had not taken that blow, you would have been dead for certain. They were going to cleave your head from your shoulders. And frankly,” he continues despite the pain in his throat. “I’m rather fond of your head where it is.”

Hawke begins to shake at that. Every inch of their body shudders. Other men would likely mistake the movement for more anger. But Fenris knows better.

It hurts but he reaches up anyway. Hawke almost flinches when his hand cups their cheek but eventually they relax into his palm. Fenris takes in a deep breath despite the protest in his lungs. Looks Hawke in the eye.

“I am fine, Hawke. I am alive.”

It is only then that Hawke begins to cry. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris didn't use to fear Templars.
> 
> Hawke changed that.

Templars didn’t use to scare Fenris.

He could remember the days when their presence had proved more comforting than fearsome. The symbol on their armor, the sharp polish steel, the eyeless helmets; none of those items used to fill him with such a terrible dread. Even after Meredith, the sight of them hadn’t bothered him besides a spike or worry that he might be recognized. To Fenris, for so many years, the Templars were not evil. They were not bad. They were men doing a necessary duty. 

Fenris didn’t think that anymore. Not since he’d come home from gathering supplies to find them holding Hawke to the floor and lighting a brand that Fenris now saw in all of his worse nightmares.

He didn’t remember the fight. There was nothing to remember, no thought as he rushed forward to peel hearts from chests, to tear limb from limb. The supplies he’d brought home were forgotten, spilled across the ground in his haste to protect, to save. By the time the fight was over, the supplies were a lost cause.

Gauze and bread were no use when soaked with blood.

They fled quickly, Hawke firing off a joke as Fenris helped them to their feet. They didn’t stop for hours, only taking refugee once it began to rain. The cave they chose was small, all jagged edges and sharp stone. 

“Why,” Fenris growled as he wrapped bandages around one of Hawke’s bleeding wrists. “You are the Champion of Kirkwall. You posed them no threat. Not enough to inflict that upon you.”

Hawke had just shrugged, throwing him a smile that made Fenris’ heart hurt. How close had he gotten to losing that smile? How close had he gotten to seeing nothing but blank eyes and a terrible sun instead? “I’m a powerful mage who ran. That’s enough of a reason in their book.”

Fenris never hated the Templars more.

Later, when the rain had stopped, Hawke had circled him in a hug. It was a comforting embrace, one he used when Fenris was nervous. They pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Fenris….if they ever…if I was made tranquil. I…” They took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t want to live like that. I would need you to-”

Fenris felt his stomach churn. He turned in their grasp, pressing them to a wall. He seized their mouth in a fierce kiss. It was like their first kiss almost, just as desperate, just as rushed, but out of fear instead of long boiling tension. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against theirs.

“It will not happen. Never. I will not let it.”

It was enough to get Hawke to drop the topic. But Fenris knew now. The weight of knowledge was a heavy one.  If Hawke were to become Tranquil, if Fenris were to fail…if Hawke were to become a lifeless husk, with dead eyes, and a shallow voice…

Images flashed through Fenris’ mind. A knife. Blood. A fulfilled promise. And it made him want to vomit. 

So now? Fenris feared Templars. Not for his own safety but for Hawke’s.

And a future that he could not bare to come true. 


End file.
